9. CIGARILLO
I entered my apartment to find that someone had broken into it. He sat there, at my kitchen tub-table, in the dark, or in what would have been total darkness except for the dim blue light through the skylight, the lattice of which stamped its lace-like pattern across the tabletop as well as the intruder’s face. That the intruder was, or had once upon a time been, my twin brother is, for all intents and purposes, beside the point. To me then he was an intruder, a stranger, or might as well have been. I’d have been no more surprised and disconcerted had I found an African elephant or the Pope sitting at my kitchen table smoking a cigarette, dressed in a leather jacket. It might have been the same leather jacket he wore on the back cover of his book, or it might have been anothe
